


Hash Marks

by Kryptaria



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>All the pieces were there, but something was still missing — some crucial keystone, minuscule and insignificant on its own but essential to completing the picture. Sherlock went to slap a third nicotine patch onto his arm, thinking to get in as much chemical stimulation as possible before John came home, when he noticed them.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Black hash marks drawn on his skin. Four lines with a fifth diagonal crossing them, marring the back of his hand.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hash Marks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snogandagrope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snogandagrope/gifts), [Mitaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitaya/gifts).



> Inspired by: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSL8MRpiMWE
> 
> Lovely arts by Mitaya. Special beta thanks to Snogandagrope, Mitaya, and my stealth-beta-er.

 

All the pieces were there, but something was still missing — some crucial keystone, minuscule and insignificant on its own but _essential_ to completing the picture. Sherlock went to slap a third nicotine patch onto his arm, thinking to get in as much chemical stimulation as possible before John came home, when he noticed them.

Black hash marks drawn on his skin. Four lines with a fifth diagonal crossing them, marring the back of his hand.

An identical configuration of five more marks on the inside of his left wrist.

A neat, perfectly drawn match on his palm.

Slowly, he sat up, hardly registering the sound of the front door opening. His heart pounded hard against his ribs as fear, previously nothing more than a physiological distraction from rational thought, swept through him. His breath quickened and his pupils dilated as his body prepared to flee, because those innocent hash marks, all fifteen of them, were both meaningless and more terrifying than anything he’d ever before experienced.

_And he had no idea why._

He heard John’s footsteps and nearly fell off the couch in his rush to clutch at any familiar anchor. John would know what to do. John would fix it. _John would know why._

The door swung open and John entered, carrying grocery bags. “Bloody freezing out there,” he complained, his back turned.

 _John,_ Sherlock tried to whisper, but the name stuck in his throat. He gasped in a breath and moved closer, reaching for John’s shoulder. If Sherlock could just _touch_ John, he knew he would feel steadier.

Unaware of Sherlock’s distress, John set down the bags, saying, “You could’ve come and helped, you know. Two can carry more than one, and I wouldn’t have to go back every other day.”

He hung up his coat, and Sherlock’s breath hitched when he saw a smudge of black on the back of John’s hand.

When John turned, the world seemed to shift underfoot. Sherlock grabbed John’s arm, watching as those familiar features went from calmly curious to worried. “John,” Sherlock whispered, the word coming out like the crack of a dry, dead branch.

Catching hold of Sherlock’s arms, John eased him back down onto the sofa, staring at him, eyes full of concern. “Sherlock, what is it? What’s wrong?”

But Sherlock had no words. He just shook his head and touched John’s face, where more than twenty black hash marks had been hastily scrawled on his skin.


End file.
